Before the haters tried to dim all the lights on disco, it was the sound of a global phenomenon. It was the sound of ’70s gay liberation, women’s liberation, and Black liberation, and that might be why, according to the astutely observant PBS docuseries Disco: Soundtrack of a Revolution, some people couldn’t take it.
However, at least one person interviewed in this three-part series argues that rock fans simply hated disco as a matter of musical taste, irrespective of any socio-political undertones. And anybody alive and conscious at the height of disco fever in 1979 reasonably could have just reached their limit.
As the series, produced and directed by Louise Lockwood and Shianne Brown, chronicles in briskly-paced fashion, the music genre arose out of New York’s underground party scene to quickly take over the country’s radio airwaves, sales charts, movies, TV, and fashion.
By the time disco achieved worldwide cultural saturation, and the novelty records started to roll in — from “Disco Duck,” to the Grammy-nominated Sesame Street disco album, featuring tracks like “Disco Frog” and “Me Lost Me Cookie at the Disco” — the backlash had galvanized into a fervent Disco Sucks movement.
On July 12, 1979, Disco Sucks had its day at Chicago’s Comiskey Park, where the feature presentation for the White Sox-Tigers doubleheader was a massive disco demolition derby held between games. The Disco Sucks demolition notoriously devolved from a mean-spirited album-burning into a flaming riot that resulted in the cancelation of the day’s second game.
The footage is still shocking, a sharp contrast to the scenes of peace, love, and inclusion set to a scintillating beat inside David Mancuso’s seminal underground dance spot The Loft, or DJ Larry Levan’s cathedral of house music, Paradise Garage.
Thorough and informative, but not exhaustive, Soundtrack of a Revolution pinpoints milestone figures and moments in the genre’s evolution from soul and R&B offshoot to four-on-the-floor phenomenon, to gasping its supposed last breaths. But disco didn’t die. The sound survived oversaturation, corporatization, and Disco Sucks.
Disco lived on, as the series concludes, in New Wave and house, in gay club DJs Levan and Frankie Knuckles, then rave and EDM. “House music is disco’s revenge,” declares feminist scholar Francesca T. Royster.
The filmmakers assemble a knowledgeable, engaging roster of interviewees — music experts, genre originators, DJs, producers, and all-time disco divas like Gloria Gaynor and Thelma Houston — relaying insight about subjects both expected and obscure.
Loaded with songs and clips, the series, of course, covers the ostentatious glamour of Studio 54, and the cultural phenomenon of Saturday Night Fever, the reign of Disco Queen, Donna Summer. But it finds true gold uncovering under-exposed history, like singer Candi Staton explaining how her upbeat hit “Young Hearts Run Free” was inspired by the night she had to flee a jealous husband who almost threw her off a balcony in Vegas.
Vicki Wickham, Pattie LaBelle and Sarah Dash in 1975 – Photo: PBS
Drummer Earl Young — the Philly-based music pioneer credited with inventing the disco style of drumming on the 1973 Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes R&B hit “The Love I Lost” — breaks down how he constructed the beat. And DJ Nicky Siano shows how he first looped the break in MFSB’s “Love Is the Message” to originate a dance floor classic that, to be sure, someone, somewhere is voguing to right now.
Because love was, and is, the message. Disco arose out of marginalized people wanting space to be themselves together, and dance in that freedom.
The series honors their story with a fair and focused reconstruction of the past, and a well-curated representation of the nu-disco generation grooving to Scissor Sisters, Dua Lipa, and Beyoncé’s Renaissance. If you ever cared about disco, or just want to relive hating it the first time, Soundtrack of a Revolution should ring your bell.
Disco: Soundtrack of a Revolution (★★★★☆), episode one, airs June 18 on PBS, episode two on June 25, and episode three on July 2.
All three episodes are available to stream on June 1 on PBS.org and the PBS app. Visit www.pbs.org.
For one brief, deranged moment, I actually considered asking ChatGPT to write a Tron: Ares review for this magazine. What could be more appropriate?
Naturally, I came to my senses. Like the AI in Tron: Ares, ChatGPT wouldn't be offering an actual opinion -- it can't sit in an IMAX theater (yet, I think) -- just a regurgitation of whatever it scraped from the web. And honestly, I couldn't care less what others think about Disney's film series. I only care what I think.
And here's what I think: it's trash. Pretty trash. Gleaming trash. Sleek trash. Trash with a kickass soundtrack. But trash, nonetheless.
The founders of the legendary Miss Adams Morgan Pageant talk about how D.C.'s largest drag event has evolved over 37 years.
By John Riley Photographs from the 1998 to 2024 pageants courtesy of the Dupont Social Club
October 1, 2025
"The whole Miss Adams Morgan Pageant really started by accident," says Steven Brandt, a board member of the Dupont Social Club, which organizes the annual drag pageant, now a fixture on many D.C. residents' calendars.
Brandt recalls that he and his now-husband, Rick Boylan, were celebrating Halloween in drag with friends when, on their way to a piano bar, walking through Dupont Circle, they were accosted by a group of teenagers.
"It was raining," recalls Brandt. "They ripped my wig off and threw it in a puddle, spewing all kinds of hatefulness. After that, we decided we needed a place to be able to go in drag if we wanted. It was maybe only the first or second time we'd been in drag, but I was so enraged by the experience that I kept saying over and over, 'We've got to...This isn't right.'"
Fashion designer Connor Ives says his now-iconic "Protect the Dolls" T-shirt -- first worn during the finale of his Fall/Winter 2025 ready-to-wear show in London -- has since raised more than $600,000 for the nonprofit Trans Lifeline. The design employs a decades-old phrase calling for solidarity with and protection of transgender women.
The shirt wasn’t originally intended as part of the collection. As Ives told The New York Times in April, he simply wanted "a T-shirt that says something" for the show, using the message as a call for solidarity with transgender people at a time when governments in the U.K. and U.S. were seeking to roll back rights.
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